Page 33 of Broken Pieces
Sneakers squeak across the tiles. Someone slams a locker so hard the sound ricochets through the ceiling. Laughter spikes, too loud, more hysteria than joy. And in the corner, a freshman is already crying, face crumpled, because high school is a fucking nightmare no one prepares you for, and the cruel truth is it only gets worse from here.
I clutch my books to my chest, pressing them so tight it feels as if they might splinter. The noise chases me anyway, impossible to outrun.
Cassie finds me outside the science wing, my back against the wall, trying to make myself smaller. She is wrist-deep in her bag, dragging out scraps of paper, discarded gum wrappers, and what might be a granola bar so ancient it deserves a memorial service.
“You coming?” she asks without looking up. Her feet are already moving, confident I’ll follow.
I nod and fall into step beside her.
The noise and rush of footsteps chase us through the doors, spilling into the open air as if the halls could not contain the chaos.
Above us the sky hangs heavy, smeared in pale clouds that look soft from a distance but carry the weight of a storm.
Cassie tears open her gum wrapper and chews with the kind of spite you save for an ex-boyfriend’s voicemail.
Earlier we had pulled that beatdown apart piece by piece, dissecting every swing between Liam and Zane, dragging the asshole teacher into it too, the one who tossed me out of the classroom, pretending it was a solution instead of a punishment. I ended up in the library, pretending to read while every page blurred to nothing, my head replaying Zane’s fury in high definition.
Liam never stood a chance.
Zane’s fists moved faster than thought, each strike carrying the weight of scars carved into his knuckles, proof they were not accidents but a history written in blood and bone.
Those scars finally make sense.
He is a storm when he moves, all muscle and violence, the kind of force that tears through anything in its path. Yet not once has it ever turned on me, not even when I ran my mouth, needling him, shoving at him just to see how far I could push before he snapped.
And maybe I should stop.
Maybe what I saw today should have been enough to scare me off, to make me pull back before I get caught in something I can’t control.
But it didn’t.
Not once has Zane made me feel small, and even after watching him break someone apart, that hasn’t changed. If anything, it only burned hotter, setting something inside me I don’t want to name on fire.
Cassie blows a bubble with her gum, tugging at my arm so I’ll pay attention as if it is the highlight of her day. It bursts across her chin, and she groans, peeling the sticky mess away with a scowl.
A beat passes.
Then another crawls by before she finally speaks.
“You sure there’s nothing going on with you and Zane?”
“For the hundredth time today,” I groan. “Cassie, I’ve already told you, there’s nothing.”
“It didn’t look like nothing to me.” Her smirk curls slow. “You sure he hasn’t crept into your room in the middle of the night? You know, just to—”
“Yeah, right.” I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. “All those bunk beds. Real romantic. Nothing screams foreplay more than rusty springs and some kid ripping one in his sleep.”
“But you’ve thought about it, right?” she presses, eyes glinting with that smugness that makes me want to shove her into traffic.
I stay quiet.
Because admitting the truth means admitting I’ve pictured it—him only a few doors down, stretched across his mattress, the silence between our rooms carrying more weight than it should. And I don’t want her to know that. I don’t want anyone to know.
Cassie cackles, head thrown back. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. He’s fucking hot. If he looked my way, I’d climb him faster than a monkey on stolen bananas.”
“Wow.” My tone is flat, dry enough to cut glass. “Real classy. And for what? Just to be another girl he fucks and forgets?”
“At least I’d know what it’s like to have his attention,” she fires back, grin flashing.
